


State of Mind

by magicalbean



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Comfort, Cryptids, Fluff, M/M, Paranormal, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-12 02:05:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11727240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalbean/pseuds/magicalbean
Summary: A certain dad in the cul de sac grabs Robert Small by the EMF meter and doesn't let go.





	1. Slow Burn

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I liked Robert's ending, the romantic sap that I am wanted some kind of cute epilogue for him where he gets his shit together for the MC. I left the MC unnamed and used little physical descriptions so imagine him however you'd like!

The clock reads 7:26. It's a full month into Amanda's summer vacation and I still haven't adjusted to sleeping late. I'm so used to getting up to make her breakfast before school; apparently habits over a decade in the making are hard to break. Amanda probably won't even be conscious until noon (I can hardly blame her) but I can't seem to fall back asleep. And I can only enjoy my comfy bed for so long before I start itching for a familiar routine.

I roll into the kitchen and crack a few eggs in the frying pan. I rummage through the cabinets for a few different spices and toss them in -- a pinch here, a dash there -- and throw some bacon on another skillet. The whole kitchen is sizzling and warm. Glancing out the window, I see Craig pass on a morning run. He'd have something to say about all this greasy bacon, for sure. I'll have to burn the evidence before the next time he comes over. Uh, wait -- I mean eat the evidence. Yeah. That's better. Mmmm, bacon.

Miraculously I lure out Amanda with the smell of food but she's in a near-zombie state. She flops down at the kitchen table with a grunt of "grrragghmemm" which I think was supposed to mean "good morning."

"Morning, honey," I chirp.

I throw a couple of Eggos in the toaster for us, pour two glasses of milk, and settle down with our plates of piping hot food. Amanda perks up a little with the smell right under her nose and lifts her head from the table. She takes a long sip of milk directly from the carton and picks up a waffle with her bare hand to cram into her mouth.

"Mario Batali would be so proud," she says.

"That's the highest praise you've ever given me." I wipe a fake tear from my eye and take a bite of my breakfast.

The food seems to have worked its magic and Amanda looks slightly more like a functioning human being. She shoots me a look over the table, a sly smirk with a few crumbs around her mouth. "Maybe if you made promised to make breakfast for your boyfriend, he'd stay over for a change."

Sometimes I have to remind myself that Amanda's not a child. And whether or not I tell her things about my personal life, she's smart enough to know when something's up.

"Robert isn't my boyfriend," I admit.

"But you knew who I was talking about even though I didn't name names, so _obviously_ you've got something going on and you were _totally_ smooching him at my grad party."

Is there some kind of a fatherly rule that prevents me from talking to my daughter about my romantic relationships? I'm not sure. I'm not up to scruff on Official Dad Code. But it's easy to talk to Amanda and honestly I haven't had many people to talk _to_ about... whatever this is with Robert.

"Well, you're not wrong but we're still not dating. It's complicated."

"C'mon, Pops. Gimme the deets."

I hesitate. Sighing, I poke the eggs around my plate. "I like him. He likes me. It's a mutual liking type of thing. But he's got some stuff to work through before getting into a relationship, so..."

"So for now you're just friends who hunt ghosts and make out sometimes?"

"Amanda, are you spying on me?"

She rolls her eyes. "Number one -- Maple Bay is a super small town. Number two, Robert is our neighbor, so the back of his pick up is not the best secret make out spot."

I feel a little embarrassed to have been so easily found out by my own kid, but I remind myself that I don't have anything to hide. One of the things that Robert and I agreed on was to be more honest with each other. And that should mean being honest about each other, too. I know Val knows that there's something between us; I think Amanda deserves the truth as well.

"Point taken. Now finish your waffles before they get soggy."

Amanda gulps them down and heads off to take a shower. Before she locks herself in the bathroom for the next two hours, she pops her head around the corner while I wash the dishes.

"Hey, Dad?" she says. I turn, and she smiles that sweet, precious Amanda smile that just makes my heart melt into a puddle of goop. "I'm glad you're letting yourself be happy."

I can't even muster up a response, witty or otherwise. I stand there at the sink with soapy hands and the tap running and I just stare slack-jawed even after Amanda scampers off. Part of me is touched by her sincerity. But another part of me aches. Badly.

Losing Alex was... hard. Harder than anything I've ever faced in my life. We were a good team -- made each other laugh a lot, shared parenting stress, ate Denny's at three in the morning on a Tuesday without judging each other. Without Amanda to keep me grounded, losing Alex would have made me fall apart. But I never dated anyone after Alex. I barely even made friends after -- my whole life had to be about Amanda, because the only fulfillment I found in my life was raising my daughter.

This... thing with Robert is the first thing I've done in years for myself, where I haven't gone in thinking first about Amanda.

As soon as the dishes are done, I send a message to Robert. He's probably still asleep and won't respond for a few hours, but I keep my phone in my pocket anyway to wait for that familiar chime that makes my heart skip.

_Hey, wanna grab a drink tonight?_

Night falls and the cul de sac is peaceful. Amanda is gone for the night. Out with the Emmas again, she said. I tried to ask her what was up with that, anyway, because wasn't she fighting with one of the Emmas? Or maybe _both_ Emmas, who knows. She gave me a lengthy breakdown of how they'd all made up -- I only remember that someone got hit in the face with a golf ball and cheese whiz had been involved but they were all friends again. I'm still a little angry at her friends for being twerps and alienating her, but I guess the important thing is that Amanda is happy.

Aside from Craig sending me a picture of River with a tiny plastic dumbbell in each hand, my phone has been silent all day. And the picture was super cute but honestly I just really wanted to hear back from Robert. He's been a lot better about responding to me more quickly but today he didn't even answer to turn me down.

I'm a little upset but mostly worried. I send him another message. _Everything okay?_

Time ticks by and he doesn't answer. I go about cleaning the house but my mind keeps wandering. I peek through the curtains towards his house but all the lights are off. His truck is gone. Anxiety stings in my stomach and I try to keep calm.

My phone starts to ring and I nearly jump out of my own skin.

Robert. It's Robert calling me. I swipe to answer and my voice cracks as I mumble a greeting.

"Hey," he says. "You busy?"

"Not really. I was just, uh. Waiting to hear back from you."

"I'm sorry," he says. And he means it. "I just got your messages. Service is spotty."

"Where are you?" I wonder.

"Usual spot," he says nonchalantly. I can hear him driving and realize he must have been at the overlook in the woods for most of the day. "Betsy and I are on our way back now. It's open mic night at Mat's, do you wanna meet me there?"

For a moment I'm dumbfounded. And I wonder if Robert's been possessed. He's picking the Coffee Spoon over Jim and Kim's?

"Yeah," I tell him. "Sure. See you there in fifteen?"

"You got it."

We hang up and I try to get my bearings. Okay, Robert is fine. He's not dead or ignoring me. Everything is cool.

Everything except for my dad pants, I guess.

I change quickly and check my hair in the mirror to make sure I look presentable. The Coffee Spoon is a quick trot from home and I spot Robert's truck parked outside. I check it before going in. Betsy is curled up asleep in the back and Robert is nowhere to be seen. I reach in to give the dog a quick pet behind the ears and decide to head inside the shop. But the moment I turn, I find that I'm not alone.

I yelp and fall back against the truck, my heart going a mile a minute with my arms half-raised to defend myself before my brain registers who snuck up on me.

"Holy shit, sorry." Robert takes my arm and helps me straighten up. I try not to think about how close I was to pissing myself. "I thought you would have heard me."

"I did. I totally did," I insist, wiping off my arms idly. "I was just... pretending to be scared. Just like how you were pretending to scare me."

"Sure, that's why you're sweating bullets."

"Of course. I'm a great actor. They considered me for the Titanic but Leo just looked way better with Kate Winslet."

Robert laughs and it makes me feel worlds better. "I'd rather see you playing Rose."

And here comes the blush.

We agreed that for now, we're just friends. But it's really hard to forget the chemistry we have. And by "really hard" I mean "fucking impossible" because I'm pretty sure platonic friends don't make out with each other. And they don't flirt with each other, either. Here we are, though: at a cozy coffee shop on a Friday night with both of us (probably) picturing me sprawled naked on a fancy couch for Leonardo DiCaprio to sketch me.

The Coffee Spoon is packed. A girl I don't recognize plays the mandolin on the small stage, and she has a yellow budgie on her shoulder chirping along to the song. Mat waves when he sees us, but he's so busy that we don't have much time to chat. We take our drinks and I shoot him an appreciative smile before Robert and I find a table. There's one near the back, and it'll be hard to see the acts but at least it's a place to put our butts. We settle down just as the mandolin girl bows out with some applause.

Mat jumps up to the mic to announce the next performer, who ends up just being Ernest Vega poorly disguised as his rapper persona. One of his friends dons shutter shades and beatboxes while Ernest raps. He's... not terrible, weirdly enough. Growing up with Hugo would help explain why he's good at wordplay.

But there's no denying that this is a far cry from the nights Robert and I used to share. The last month has been weird as we've tried to figure things out between us -- not to mention Robert figuring himself out -- but this is definitely... different.

Maybe Robert reads my mind, or maybe he just wants to focus on something other than a trash talking eighth grader. He looks deep into his cup before he takes a gulp of it and he doesn't make eye contact when he finally speaks up.

"I, uh. I'm sorry for bringing you here."

"What?" I wonder. "Why?"

"You wanted to get drinks, right? Don't think this is what you pictured."

I'm tempted to reach across the table for his hand but I remind myself at the last second that we're trying to stick to the whole "friends" thing. I fiddle with a napkin instead. "I wanted to spend some time with you. It doesn't matter so much what we're doing."

Robert hesitates. He looks up for a moment, eyes flicking to my hand, the stage, and then back to his cup. "I... haven't had a cigarette in two weeks. And I'm trying to cut back on drinking." I raise my eyebrows. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. Spending this time with Val... it's made me realize what an incredible person she is. I want to be a part of her life, but I don't want to be the drunk father she's ashamed of. She deserves so much better than that." Finally he looks me in the eyes. "And so do you."

I smile at him, and this time I don't think twice about holding his hand. "I'm really proud of you."

His calloused hand squeezes mine. "Don't speak too soon. I've fallen off the wagon before."

"That's just part of recovery, though. Besides, it's probably easier to commit to it now that you're not beating yourself up so much. And we can nix the old pub crawls. That just leaves more time for ghost hunts."

He cracks a smile and it lights up our dim little corner of the coffee shop. It's a perfect moment of mutual understanding, of silence speaking volumes more than our mouths ever could. It hits me how much I care about Robert, how much this small breakthrough means to me. And something else hits me. Softly. Cold...ly. I blink and wonder why it feels like something wet is dripping down my shoulder. I glance at my shirt and realize the mandolin girl's budgie pooped on me on its way to perch on the rim Robert's coffee cup.

"This was my favorite shirt," I beseech the little yellow puff. "And you just _shat on it_."

It peeps innocently and Robert is too overcome with a burst of laughter to shoo it away. Its owner pops over to the table to collect it without so much as an apology about her feathery chicken nugget voiding its bowels all over a perfectly good band T.

"I've got a spare shirt in the truck if you wanna change," Robert offers. "As long as you don't mind the dog fur."

I'll take Betsy's fur over bird shit any day. We get up to leave. The music is still audible outside, just muffled. For a summer night, the air is chilly and the bird poop all over my shoulder isn't helping matters. Robert and I walk to the side of his truck facing opposite the street so I'm not stripping in public. With a sigh, I pull it off, careful to avoid smearing anything gross on my face, and Robert rummages around in the back of his pick up. I try to casually hold the shirt over my arm and pretend like I'm not shivering.

"So why do you have spare clothes on you anyway?" I wonder.

"In case I get bloodstains on the ones I'm wearing."

I'm familiar enough with Robert's humor that it doesn't phase me. I give him a look.

"This is New England," Robert reminds me. "We could get a flash flood, an earthquake, and a heat wave all in the same week and no one would bat an eyelash. I always have some extra clothes in my bag when I go out." He looks at me very seriously while he pulls out a plain white shirt. "And I fucking hate wet socks."

"Amen," I sigh. I take the fresh shirt from Robert while he tosses mine in the back seat. Before I put it on, Robert stops me.

"Do you seriously have a pierced belly button?"

A prickle of heat rushes to my face. "Oh, uh. Hah. Yeah. I did it on a dare from Craig in college. Cost me like a hundred bucks so I never got rid of the damn thing. Pretty stupid, I know."

Robert shakes his head. "It's cute."

Trying to hide how over the moon I am, I pull the new shirt over my head, and the smell envelopes me. A hint of tobacco still lingers on the fabric, as well as campfires and fresh cut grass. It's a familiar, reassuring smell. I run a hand through my hair to fix it and the back of Robert's hand brushes against my arm, which is covered in goosebumps. "You cold?"

"Not really," I lie.

Robert takes off his jacket anyway. I hardly ever see him without the damn thing, I was starting to think it was surgically attached to his body. But it smells like him, too, and it's warm. And I don't have much of a choice when he sweeps it over my shoulders. I clutch it closer, the worn leather is soft to the touch and it's much heavier than I expected. Pleased, I peer up to thank Robert in the least awkward way possible but I miss the chance. He grabs my arms and the words die in my throat. He steps in and pushes me back against the truck. I look at him through half lidded eyes. The neon glow of The Coffee Spoon's sign shines around him like a halo, and without his jacket I can see the hard muscle standing out on his arms. My lower lip trembles when Robert kisses me.

He pulls back, thick brows pinching together with concern. "Are you all right?" he starts to ask, but I dive in for another taste of him. His stubble scrapes against my chin and lips, and he shoves me back against the truck. He has one hand in my hair and the other creeping up my chest while I cradle his face and neck and hope to god I never have to break away from him.

His mouth presses against my neck, teeth and tongue darting out against my skin. I'm sure he can feel my pulse so he knows exactly how riled up I am, like I'm some teenager making it to second base. I can't stop the sound that escapes me, and I swear I can feel Robert smirking while he sucks a hickey into my throat. My fingers slip through his hair, I breathe against the shell of his ear. I can't remember the last time I felt like this. The thrill, the tease, the maddening desire making me blind to everything else.

A pair of dark eyes meet mine. My neck is sore and damp where Robert left a mark but I've never wanted anything so much as I want him to mark every inch of my skin. He cups my ass and pulls me in tight against his body, a chaste kiss falling to my lips. He breathes out and rests his forehead against mine. And I can't help but wonder if I'm the only one with heart palpitations.

"It's a lot easier to stop hating myself when you look at me like that," he muses.

"Like what?"

He just smiles and holds me close. His embrace is so gentle, but secure. My legs could give out and I know he'd catch me. Which is a good thing, because I'm so lightheaded that my knees might actually buckle.

And, the moment is broken. Not by either of us -- but by a scrabbling against the inside of the truck and a muffled whimper. I turn around to see Betsy's face smooshed against the window, steamy exhales fogging up the glass. She gazes at us with big, sad eyes, as if she's asking why we aren't giving her belly rubs. Neither of us can resist The Face. Robert opens the car door and Betsy _yarps_ , leaping into his waiting arms. She covers him in affectionate slurps and inside I'm dying at how cute this is. Nothing beats the bond between a man and his tiny dog.

"You wanna go back inside?" Robert asks. "Or are you up for a drive?"

"Let's go for a drive instead. Just in case Ernest goes back up for an encore."

We climb into the truck and I keep Betsy on my lap in the passenger seat so she doesn't feel left out. The moon shines bright above us. Robert has a full tank of gas. We look at each other in the semi darkness with a mutual understanding. A calmness, a passion, all at once. He puts his hand on my thigh and I turn on the radio. We put the windows down and the wind blows through my hair, and the night is ours.

-

 


	2. What Lurks in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise smut & a rating increase for the next chapter

The sun is shining. Birds are singing. Children are laughing. It’s a gorgeous day and I hate it. Every movie in the history of cinema has all kinds of crazy weather imagery to reflect the protagonist’s turmoil. When they feel like shit, there’s a storm.

But here I am in breezy t-shirt weather.

The car chose a prime time to crap out on me, and I planned on shelling out for a rental while it’s in the shop. Fortunately, Robert offered up his truck. He’s sure it’ll make the trip which is way more confidence than I put in his pick up, but I don’t have many other options so I have to put my trust in him. And his vehicle.

It’s Move In Day.

It was easier to be happy about Amanda’s acceptance to HIA when it was a glimmer on the horizon. Now it’s coming at us 60 miles per hour down the highway and there’s no turning back.

This is happening. It’s actually happening.

Robert and I take turns driving so the other can rest. It takes us more than the estimated fourteen hours since we stop for food and bathroom breaks; Betsy is the first creature I’ve encountered with a bladder smaller than mine. Amanda’s things are piled in the bed of the truck while she naps on and off in the narrow back seat with the dog.

She squeals when we pass signs directing us towards the university, nearly bouncing in her seat while she points them out. I force a smile. This is her dream come true. I’m happy. I am.

Really.

We get the directions to her dorm and Robert and I help her carry in all of her stuff. She’s on the third floor and the elevators are hidden somewhere so we get plenty of exercise. My bad knee aches but I ignore it. We even meet her roommate, a willowy girl with half of her hair shaved off and the other half long and washed out blue. They click almost instantly, and Amanda stays to chat with her while Robert and I set up her things.

The new roomie goes off to search for her own parents while I tweak things here or there in Amanda’s room. I test the bed frame and frown. “This is wobbly. It might be broken. Don’t put your bedding down yet, I should probably–”

“Dad, it’s fine,” she laughs. “It doesn’t wobble.”

“It does,” I insist, pushing against the headboard again. “See? That’s some poor craftsmanship. What if the slats break and you get hurt?”

“Then I get to sue the school for filling me with splinters and you don’t have to worry about tuition money anymore.”

I fiddle with it again, reluctant to let go of the breath stuck in my chest. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fix it? I can do it really quick.”

“I think it’ll be fine, Pops,” Amanda promises.

It hurts to leave but I have to rip off the bandaid. The longer I stay, the more I risk breaking down in front of her. Robert hangs back a little while Amanda walks us out to the dorm’s entrance. I fix the flap of her jacket sticking straight up in the air. “Make sure you eat properly. And wear your flip flops in the communal showers. And don’t forget, if someone starts a fight with you–”

She throws a light jab at me, a toothy smile splitting across her face. “Aim for the squishy bits,” she finishes.

It takes everything I have not to ugly-cry in front of her and Robert. I pull her in for a tight hug and try not to think about how long the next three months are going to be without her.

“You’re gonna be fine,” I tell her.

“You, too,” she says. “I love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too. Now go finish unpacking or else I’m going to stand here and hug you until the semester starts.”

She breaks away with a laugh and bends over to get some drooly kisses from Betsy. “I’m gonna miss you,” she baby-talks to the terrier. “Cutie patootie chunky baby.”

Sufficiently covered in dog spit, Amanda straightens up and Robert gives her an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Good luck,” he says. And Amanda throws her arms around his waist, squeezing him hard. He looks at me, clearly dumbstruck; I chuckle and shrug. He returns the embrace somewhat awkwardly and Amanda grins up at him. “So, I’ll see you and Betsy at Thanksgiving this year, right?” Before Robert can answer, she barrels forward. “The correct answer is  _yes_.”

Robert eyes Betsy. “You heard the lady.”

Betsy barks and her tongue lolls out of her mouth.

Well that was a surprisingly easy way to invite Robert to spend the holidays with me. And I didn’t even have to ask. I make a mental note to thank Amanda the next time I talk to her. But thinking about how she won’t be home tomorrow hurts my heart and I reluctantly climb into the truck.

“Drive safely,” she says. “Make good choices.”

“Whatever, Dad,” I tease her.

We both suck at goodbyes. I’m lingering. I’m clinging even after it’s time to let go. There are a million more reassuring cliches I could spew at her but her roommate appears in the dorm’s doorway and calls out to her. Amanda starts to head back in and gives me one last wink-and-finger-guns before she backsteps towards the entrance. Robert starts the engine.

I don’t want to say goodbye. But I want to say something.

“Don’t smoke crack,” I call out to her.

The rumbly engine drowns me out. We wave. I sink back into my seat and close my eyes, trying to hold back. I think of the picture of us on my desk and how that will be the only time I get to see her face for the next three months. When I open my eyes, the sky seems darker and I’m clutching Robert’s sleeve. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to listen to the radio. I don’t want to do anything. Robert understands. He holds my hand while I cry. It fucking sucks and it hurts like hell. Eventually I’ll be okay – I know I will. But right now, I’m just not.

I’m tired but I can’t sleep. It’s late and neither of us are fit to drive. Robert and I already planned to rent a nearby motel for the night and at his suggestion we stop into a nearby all-night diner first for some food.

The stoned youths and truckers strewn about come with the territory. The diner, which has a few flickering 70s style lighted signs out front, looks like the last eatery in the United States to ban smoking in the establishment. And by the smell of the place, that’s not even a strictly enforced rule. Robert and I take a booth and peruse the menu. Nothing sounds appealing to me, though. We sip at weak coffee and Betsy curls up at Robert’s feet. “Service dog,” he says to the waitress before she can comment. She doesn’t question it. He rattles off his order and I just ask for a corn muffin.

I stare off into the sparsely lit parking lot and sigh.

“She’s a good kid,” Robert says.

I lift my head up. “Huh?”

“Amanda,” he clarifies, pouring a cream into his coffee. “You did a good job with her. She’s pretty smart, too. She’ll be all right.”

I know all that. Maybe it’s not really Amanda I’m worried about.

A few minutes pass and the waitress delivers our food. I pick apart my dry muffin and poke it around my plate. After a few bites, Robert remarks, “This is the kind of greasy shit I’d want when I’m hungover.” He swallows and adds, “And that’s probably the only time this would taste good.” I try to smile or muster up some sympathy. It doesn’t seem to work so I drink my coffee instead. Robert passes me a slice of toast from his plate. “C'mon. You should eat something.”

I take it from him hesitantly and nibble at the corner. The bread is cheap and it’s probably slathered in I Can Sort of Believe It’s Just Imitation Butter. Still, it’s solid food in me. And my stomach growls like it’s been reminded that crying makes me hungry. Robert portions off some omelette and bacon on another slice of toast and slides it onto my plate. I can’t even protest. And I’m so fucking emotional that if I even say thank you I’ll probably start crying again. So instead I just eat it, and when the check comes I pay the bill. He reaches for his wallet anyway but I remind him, “I owe you for this whole trip. So don’t even think about it.”

He’s not pleased about it but it’s only fair. I ate almost half of his food. Plus he fed Betsy some table scraps, so no doubt he didn’t get his share. And paying for his gas isn’t enough to compensate him for the huge favor he’s done me.

We stretch our legs in the parking lot for a few minutes before heading back out. Robert helps Betsy get inside before he leans back against the door and looks me over.

“Do you want to talk?”

I sigh for the thirtieth time. “Not right now.”

He nods. Gives my hand a quick squeeze. We get back in the truck and hit the highway again. The diner is the last bit of civilization until the motel, and I’m looking forward to getting away from all the artificial light for a little while. There’s nothing but the black strip of road, the trees beside us, and the sky. It’s lonely and quiet, peaceful in an alien sort of way that helps me think.

Robert’s truck is pretty old and I’ve gotten used to its sputters and groans. After spending almost all of the last twenty four hours inside of it, I’m more familiar with the noises it makes. But the grating sound coming from the engine doesn’t sound familiar at all. I lift my head from my palm and look at Robert, who sits up taller with a furrowed brow. He slows down a bit and peers out at the hood. And we both notice at the same time that smoke is seeping from the edges.

“Oh shit,” he mutters.

Robert pulls off to the side of the road and cuts the engine. I sit uselessly in the front seat while he rummages around in the back. He extracts a flashlight and gloves from somewhere; he flicks on the light and throws on both thick gloves before lifting the hood. Smoke billows over him. He coughs into his jacket, lifting it to cover his nose and mouth. And when enough of the smoke clears, he sets a rod in place to keep the hood open before peering inside with his flashlight. More swears slip out. I unbuckle my seat belt and clamber out of the car.

“What happened?” I ask, looking down into the machinery that I know literally zilch about.

“Engine’s overheating,” he said.

“Well,” I shrug. “How do we fix it?”

“Cool it down.”

“Oh. Right.”

Robert gestures vaguely towards the back. “I’ve got some coolant. We can just pour some in the radiator and we should be good to go.”

“Sounds like a plan. So which one’s the radiator?” I reach my hand in and Robert snatches my wrist. He shoots me a stern glare.

“It’s overheating. As in, too hot to function.  _As in_ , you will burn your skin clean off if you touch it.” Robert releases my hand. “We have to wait for it to cool down first, _then_  we add the coolant.”

“I am not a car person,” I tell him.

It looks like it takes some effort for him to not roll his eyes. “I know.”

Thankfully Robert has an idea of what he’s doing. He suggests we wait it out for about half an hour to give the overworked engine a break before doing anymore work. He leaves the hood popped with the headlights on and we both start to climb back inside; before we get settled, Betsy whines. And much like the truck’s noises, I know Betsy’s, too. Robert sighs and plucks her up.

“Well. Let’s go water the grass,” he says, putting her on the ground.

“I’ll make sure the car keeps cooling properly,” I say, patting the dashboard.

Robert gives me an affirmative nod and follows an unleashed Betsy into the trees off at the side of the road. I keep an eye on the glow of his flashlight and sit idly in the truck in dark silence. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I try to shake off the sensation. I’m going to psych myself out if I keep thinking about how I’m alone in a broken down truck on a deserted highway in the middle of the night with poor phone service and –

The driver’s side door rips open and I jump. Actually jump out of my seat and bash my head off of the roof. Swearing up and down, I clutch my sore scalp and look up through tears to see that the door has slammed shut – with Robert inside, white-faced and clutching Betsy to his chest. His eyes are wide and it looks like he’s holding his breath. The flashlight is on the floor.

“Robert…?”

Betsy whimpers.

“What’s wrong?” I frown. “If this is another bit, I’m gonna be kinda pissed. My head is f–”

A howl drowns me out. One that’s far too close for comfort. Every last hair on my body stands on end. Robert and I stare at one another, eyes wide.

“What is it?” My voice is barely a whisper. “A coyote? A wolf?”

“I… I don’t know,” he admits. “I only saw it for a second.”

“What did you see?”

He swallows. Hard. “It looked like a wolf. Almost.”

“ _Almost?_ ” I press him.

“A big one. I haven’t seen a wolf in real life before. I don’t know. Maybe they’re just… a lot bigger than I thought.”

We’re not exactly in prime wolf territory, as far as I know. But I don’t doubt that Robert saw something and I definitely did not imagine the noise coming from the side of the road.

There’s gotta be a reasonable explanation. Right?

“So do you think it was…” Don’t say a werewolf. “Like… maybe…” Don’t you fucking do it. “A werewolf?”

God dammit you dumbass, Robert is going to dope slap me.

He doesn’t dope slap me. He doesn’t even look at me. And the fact that he doesn’t outright dismiss the suggestion just makes everything worse. Maybe it was just a dog. Malamutes are pretty beastly, right? And they look like wolves. So someone was probably training for a dog sledding competition. In the middle of the night, in late summer. Yeah.

A shadow races past our headlights. The hood is still popped so I only get a glimpse of it. I stop breathing. The temperature in the whole truck drops ten degrees in a split second.

“Did you see–?” I choke out.

“Yeah,” Robert says. His voice is shaking.

Holy shit, if he’s scared too then we’re really fucked.

It darts past again, going the opposite direction. All I can make out are four legs and fur. It casts an enormous shadow. My throat dries up and I can see my whole life passing by. To think I got this far just to get mauled to death on a lonely highway.

Betsy whimpers again, burying her nose in Robert’s jacket. He rubs her ears but his hands are trembling. “It’s okay, girl. Shhh, everything’s fine.”

_Slam._ The whole truck shakes violently, Betsy’s anxiety barks and my own screams echo inside. Robert and I both turn in our seats towards the back where we just manage to catch sight of something massive leaping from the bed of the truck.

“What the fuck is this  _Cujo_  shit?!” Robert snarls. He reaches for the ignition, but his keys are gone. He scrambles through his pockets and comes up empty handed. “I must have dropped my keys. I dropped my  _fucking keys outside_.”

Don’t panic. Don’t panic, it’s fine. It’s cool. We’re not gonna get eaten alive.

“We’re gonna die,” I moan.

Betsy scrambles off of Robert’s lap and hides under the seat. I whip out my phone. I don’t know whether I planned to call the police or the Winchesters, but I have no service at all.

“We’ll just have to lie low and wait it out until morning,” Robert says.

I have watched all nineteen seasons of Long Haul Ice Road Paranormal Ghost Truckers and none of them have prepared me for this.

“Or…” Robert trails off, looking outside. Stares intently. “My keys are probably at the back of the truck. I must have dropped them when I got the flashlight.”

“Don’t even think about going out there,” I warn him.

“No risk, no reward,” Robert says.

I grab his arm. “ _No._ No way. Whatever the hell that is out there, it’s way too dangerous for you to–”

Another howl echoes through the night. A shiver runs up my spine. It’s so close, it sounds like it’s right on top of us. Robert pulls me tight against him and I can’t help but clutch at him for comfort. I want him to tell me everything is gonna be all right, that this was one big stupid prank.

“We’re gonna get out of this,” Robert says, his voice low. “I promise.”

I’m on the verge of tears again. I want to believe him because there’s so much more left for us to do. There’s hundreds of kinds of food in this world I haven’t even tried. I haven’t seen Amanda have her first kid. Robert and I have so much to talk about – and maybe I’ll never get another chance. I want to give him the old teary eyed speech about how what he means to me, but he presses his lips against my forehead and breathes against my hair. And I know words will never mean more than this moment.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, “I have to tell you something.”

I want to ask what he plans to tell me, but I get the feeling he wouldn’t fess up. The curiosity eats at me, and I have to hope that I live long enough to hear him say whatever is on his mind.

Robert tenses up. I lift my head a little and see what he sees: a flicker of light in the rearview mirror. Could it be…? I sit up straight and we both look back down the road we came from.

It is indeed a car. I can hardly believe my eyes. Just as I begin to wonder how we can signal them, they start to slow down and pull up beside us. Hair metal blasts from the tired speakers of a Wrangler occupied by four guys who look like they just came back from a camping trip. I hesitantly roll down my window and the driver calls out, “Hey, you guys all right?”

Robert leans over me to shout back, “My engine overheated.”

Glad he didn’t mention the freaky wolf taunting us. These guys would probably think we were having a bad trip.

“I’ve got a gallon of water in back,” the other driver says, jerking his thumb towards the rear of his Jeep. “You want a hand?”

“We’d appreciate it, dude,” I tell him.

I’m still scared shitless about getting out of the car, but when the other driver and one of his buddies get out to find the jug, Robert and I hesitantly step out of the truck. The other guys are chatty and nice, but it feels like a struggle to act normal around them.

“You guys see any animals on the road? We heard some shit that’s been scaring the piss out of my dog,” Robert remarks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

One of the guys grins. “Aw yeah, man. Passed by some coyotes ‘bout half a mile back. Big ass deer carcass right on the side of the road. It was wild. Nasty, but wild.”

The driver nods sagely. “Nature is fucking LIT.”

Robert and I exchange glances. I chuckle weakly. “Sure is,” I agree.

Did we seriously almost shit our pants over a coyote? Fear does some weird stuff to the brain but it seems like a stretch to believe that Robert and I were both seeing the same creepy shadows. Coyote or cryptid, whatever was stalking us seems to be gone. Robert scoops his keys off of the ground right where he thought they were, and he starts up the engine with no problems. The nice folks who stopped for us make sure we can drive before they pile back in their own car and take off.

Once Robert and I are alone again, we dare to speak.

“So… coyotes, huh?”

Robert grunts but doesn’t elaborate. I don’t think he believes it, either. He got a better look than I did out in the woods. We carry on for another few miles down the highway until we find the motel. Robert pulls into a parking spot. I have never been so thankful for civilization ever in my life. While I coax Betsy out from under the back seat, Robert goes around back to grab a duffel bag with our stuff from the truck bed. I set Betsy down and notice that Robert is just staring at the truck bed, flashlight trained on to a certain spot.

“Uh, Robert?” I call out.

He just points. And I draw up along side him to follow his gaze. I almost don’t understand what I’m seeing. Right in the middle of the bed, there’s a paw print. An enormous pawprint, easily three or four times the size of a dog’s. Slowly we turn to look at each other.

“That’s definitely not from a coyote,” Robert says.

“So,” I ask, “did we just survive a werewolf encounter?”

Robert grins. A big, incredulous smile. Laughter bursts out from us both. We high five so hard that my palm burns and I let out a huge whoop, punching the air. Holy SHIT. We just had a goddamn paranormal experience and lived to tell about it.

“We need our own TV show,” I insist.

“No one’s gonna believe us,” he tells me.

But he doesn’t care. I certainly don’t. It was fucking horrifying. And weirdly awesome. In like, a pants-shitting kind of way.

The receptionist is stoned out of his mind at the front desk but manages to get us a room key. We find the matching room number and flick the lights on inside. It’s small but manageable. There’s just one problem.

There’s only one bed.

Robert notices it, too.

“I’ll take the chair,” I promise. “You’ve been doing most of the driving, it’s only fair that you get the bed.”

“It’s big enough for both of us,” he says. Then, seeming to realize he actually said it, Robert looks away. “If you want to.”

Of course I want to sleep in an actual bed. Even if it is a greasy trucker motel bed. I  _definitely_  want to be close to Robert. I just didn’t think it would happen like this. We agree to share it, but first I want to shower off the smell of gasoline and fear sweat. After I finish washing up, Robert slips in for a rinse, too. I sit on the bed with my phone in my hands, trying to decide whether or not to tell Amanda about what happened. I’ve tried to recompose the same text seven times before I finally give up and realize she won’t be answering me at four in the morning anyway. Robert steps out of the bathroom with a cloud of steam, a towel tossed over his shoulder and his chest bare. He rakes a hand through his wet hair and he catches me staring. But I can’t look away. I’m just in awe at how freaking handsome he is. All sorts of slick lines jump to the forefront of my mind when I look at him and I want to impress him with something smooth.

“You’re… really hot.”

Nailed it.

He stares at me for a moment, taken aback. I blush and he chuckles. “Thanks.”

Robert leaves the towel over the back of a chair before he sits on the other side of the bed. Betsy hops onto the mattress and curls up at the end.

“I’m wiped,” he admits. “But I don’t want to sleep.”

“I feel the same way.”

I’m bursting with excitement after seeing the pawprint on the truck. After thinking a mere hour ago that I was not going to live to see the morning. But the adrenaline kick is wearing off and no matter how much I want to stay up and talk about what happened, my body just can’t keep up. I lay down and turn off the light and Robert, still shirtless, lies behind me. I wasn’t totally sure what was going to happen – were we going to face opposite sides of the room and pretend we were in separate beds?

Thankfully no. Robert curls a strong arm around my waist and pulls me close to spoon with him. It’s the most intimate we’ve ever been, and I can’t help my fluttering heart when he leans over and presses a sleepy kiss to my lips. Despite all we’ve been through tonight, I feel safe in Robert’s protective embrace. I cuddle close to him and my worries and fears feel miles away.

-

Morning comes without either of us noticing. I wake up to someone knocking on the motel room door but my whole body, even my tongue, feels so heavy that I can’t get up or answer. The housekeeper lets herself in and ignores our groggy groans while she exchanges our used towels for fresh ones. And she doesn’t seem to realize or care about how much noise she’s making.

Well. There are worse ways to wake up, I guess.

All things considered, it’s not even that bad – because Robert and I are still snuggled together. Once the housekeeper leaves, Robert stretches himself awake. He glances over at me and gives my hair an affectionate ruffle.

We rouse ourselves enough to change before checking out and helping ourselves to some coffee in the lobby. Styrofoam cups in hand, we pile into the truck once more. Robert starts the engine and I remember something. I look over at him and remind him, “So what were you gonna tell me?”

Tomorrow, he’d promised while we sat on the side of the highway, fearing for our lives. Robert’s dark eyes see right through me. He holds my arm, leans in suddenly, his other hand sifting through my hair to pull my head in close. His lips taste like French vanilla coffee, and he doesn’t let up. He doesn’t stop the fiercely passionate kiss and I’m tempted to drag him back to the motel room right then and there.

His lips part from mine. I’m dizzy. Lightheaded. “I’m ready,” Robert says. “For you. For us. If you think I’m–”

I dive back and quiet him with another kiss. My heart is so full it hurts. I want him so much, and it hurts to bite back the urge to tell him how I feel about him. I can’t say that yet, I can’t, but I hope he can taste the truth. He smiles when he turns on the radio. I think he understands.

The clouds are heavy and gray. The air tastes of rain. I breathe. My chest is feather light. Between road trips, monster hunts, and steamy make out sessions, I can’t think of anyone on earth I’d rather be with.


	3. The Little Things

Neil slides us a couple of beers and Robert nods his thanks. On his other side, Mary nurses her usual glass of merlot. Her cheeks are flushed and she keeps giggling, leaning heavily on Robert to share whatever private jokes they've cultivated through the years. Despite our awkward start, Mary and I have warmed up to each other. But Robert is still her best friend and I've been taking up most of his free time these days. They have a lot to catch up on. And I have a lot of thumb-twiddling to do while they banter.

I notice Mary isn't quite on her game tonight. Her laughter is louder -- forced, almost. She hardly even seems interested in pestering guys to buy her drinks. Instead she clings to Robert and fills every quiet moment with some kind of joke or story. And for someone who likes his peace and quiet, Robert's doing a pretty good job of keeping up with her. I don't find many opportunities to actually join in the conversation, either. For the most part I just play the part of Robert's armpiece.

No sports flash across the screen, just the local news which is every bit as boring as it is every other night I watch it. I try to politely keep up with Mary's stories of years past but between her slurring and how often she gets sidetracked by her own anecdotes, I'm totally lost. Robert, at least, is sober enough to seem amused but I can't tell if he knows what she's talking about, either.

At least he hasn't completely forgotten me. He keeps his arm loose around my waist, holding me as close as our bar stools will allow. He tries to explain the context of Mary's supposedly hilarious story; I put on a smile and nod along, and Mary excuses herself to the bathroom. While I sip my drink, Robert drops his mouth close to my ear. "Thanks for coming. We won't be here all night. I promise."

"I'm not in a rush," I insist.

"Yeah well, you're not enjoying this either."

Okay maybe not. But there are way worse ways I could be spending the night. So I tell Robert honestly, "I'm fine. I'm just glad you're having a good time."

He glances towards the bathroom, then to the bartender. Once he's sure no one is within earshot, he explains in an undertone, "Today is Mary and Dickbag's anniversary. She gets depressed. I just... couldn't leave her alone. You know?"

Things begin to make sense. I know Robert can't stand Joseph, but I feel bad for him _and_ Mary. I don't know what really made their marriage fall apart; all I know is that they're miserable. And now, separated -- if Mary is to be believed. So when she comes back and settles into her seat again, I know I've gotta do what I do best:

Embarrass the ever-loving fuck out of myself.

"Hey, Mary. You feel like going shot for shot?"

She laughs. "You'll be passed out on the floor before I even get buzzed. But sure. Whatever you want."

I don't bother reminding Mary that she's already beyond "buzzed." Robert doesn't join in, sticking to his one beer. I'm really proud of him but I realize too late that we're probably not being good influences. Well, if Mary hasn't driven him back to hard liquor already, I think he'll make it through the night.

Mary waves Neil over. We end up with shot glasses and lime wedges; the tequila burns going down, but I power through it. Do it for Mary, I tell myself.

Three shots in and everything is a little soupy. And hilarious. Robert's hold on me is a little firmer. He rests his chin on top of my head when I lean on his shoulder to rest for a moment. If I close my eyes for just a few minutes, I'll feel less drunk. For sure.

But... oh wow. Leaning on him like this is so comfortable. I open my eyes and the floor spins. I close them again. For some reason it's still spinning. "Weak!" Mary chides. "You need more practice."

I'm afraid that if I dare to open my mouth, I'll throw up in Robert's lap. Goddamn, I cannot hold my liquor like I could in college.

Music crackles through ancient speakers behind us. Curiosity gets the better of me and I lift my head to look for the source of the song. A young man and woman have a clunky karaoke machine set up in the corner where they sing a classic 80s pop song. I remember seeing the karaoke machine sitting on a shelf somewhere in the bar before, right alongside a bunch of other relics that didn't age well. When did that get set up? Did Neil dust it off to compete with The Coffee Spoon?

I'm not really sure and suddenly I don't really care. It clicks: I grew up with all the music these young people are singing. Man, I could _totally_ do karaoke.

In a blink, I'm holding the mic.

"Hey," I announce. "This is a song." Dozens of pairs of eyes swivel in my direction. "Yeah. A song that I'm gonna -- gonna dedicate to my friend Mary."

"Mary's a bitch," some guy shouts.

" _HEY_." I single out the handsome twenty-something sitting with his friends. "Mary's a cool lady. And if you call her a bitch again, she'll fuck you up."

"Don't you mean _you'll_ fuck me up?'" the heckler calls back.

"No."

Mary can defend her own honor. God knows I could never wreck a man like she can.

Thanks to that heckler, I'm fired up. I tap the play button on the karaoke machine and crank the volume. A familiar piano intro blares out. The words I already know by heart pop up on the little blue screen and I sing from the soul just like Steve Perry intended. " _Just a small town girl, living in a lonely wooo-ooorld_." Oh god this might have been a mistake. " _She took the midnight train going aaaanywheeeere_."

I don't know if she's laughing for the reasons I intended, but still, she is laughing. Doubling over, clutching Robert, slapping the bar top and wiping tears from her eyes by the time I'm done. And between the applause from her and Robert, I actually have no idea if everyone else is clapping or groaning.

And I really don't care. Robert presses a scruffy kiss against my face. My whole body feels wobbly and warm. Mary shoves another drink into my hand. "Cheers, fellas!"

We toast our respective glasses. For the first time since Amanda left, I can't stop smiling.

"Did you see if anything by Joan Jett was on there?" Robert asks.

The handsome heckler started chatting with Mary but the moment Robert speaks, she whips her head around with a fierce grin. "Did someone say Joan Jett? _Hold my beer_."

And in a flash, she's tearing up to the mic to flip through the songs. She straightens up with a triumphant smirk. I sip some water while she belts out the track she picked, nearly shattering the speakers in the process.

But as usual I have to pee like crazy, so I slip off to the bathroom. The moment I open the door, I hear puke splattering all over the floor. The smell sends a shudder through me and I decide to sneak into the back alley instead. I carefully push through the bar's back door and find a private corner to take a leak.

Between the night air, drinking some water, and emptying my bladder, my head is clearer. It's crisp outside, and it smells of fall: the weirdly pleasant aroma of dead leaves and cold air. I lean back against the brick wall and look up at the sky. Black as ink, few stars to speak of, but still quiet and lovely.

For a moment the hubbub from inside Jim and Kim's spills out, and I look towards the door. Robert steps out into the narrow alley and comes to lounge beside me.

"Everything okay?"

My smile comes easily. "Yeah. I'm just sobering up."

He nods. And he's quiet for a moment. "That was good, you know. What you did in there."

"What can I say? It just doesn't feel right if Mary's not busting my balls. Now she's got plenty of fuel."

"I think she'll go easy on you tonight," Robert tells me.

"What makes you say--"

His lips press firmly against mine. All is still, my world is quiet. And I stare at him through half lidded eyes; I'm so breathless, I forget to return the kiss until he pulls back and opens his eyes. Dark. _Deep_. Reeling me in, begging for more -- or am I just seeing myself reflected in his eyes?

I don't care. I grab the collar of his jacket and pull him back. Robert steps in, pressing me up against the wall for leverage. I'm high on the taste of him. His hand creeps up my shirt. I press my body into his touch, craving the rasp of his calloused hands against my skin. The tip of his thumb reaches far enough to graze a nipple and I drag my fingers through his hair. Between the chill on my exposed stomach and the pure ecstasy of his touch, I'm shivering, covered in goosebumps and dying for more. He looks into my eyes, and he _knows_. One arm circles my lower back, and he settles his hand into my back pocket.

"Rob--"

I cover my own mouth to stifle a gasp. He scrunches the bottom of my shirt up to my throat to make room for his lips. Sloppy, scratchy kisses dip down my chest, my stomach... I reach under his chin and fumble to unzipper my jeans for him. A gruff chuckle escapes him, my neck flushes, his teeth catch the band of my underwear --

The bar's back door swings open. Robert snaps up to his feet, knees cracking on his way up, and I scramble to button my pants again. My skin is on fire.

Mary leans against the doorway with her wine glass in hand. A catlike smirk pulls at her lips and she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "I was just about to suggest we blow this popsicle stand. Didn't realize you were already a step ahead of me."

"Can't a guy give a back alley blow job in peace? Jesus Christ," Robert grumbles.

Hooo boy I wish I was still drunk so I could let this slide off. Mary snorts and I want to melt into a puddle.

"I mean, you boys can get back to business," she says. But it doesn't seem like she plans on moving from her perch, either. Which just makes me more flustered.

"You know, for some reason I'm not in the mood anymore," I tell her.

Robert takes my arm and leads both Mary and I back inside to pay our bill. Neil bids us all goodnight and Mary pulls on her waistcoat before we make the short trek back to the cul de sac.

Robert and I walk Mary home first.

"I'm gonna sleep the minute I hit my bed," she admits.

"You sure you're all good? I can stay with you."

She reaches up to ruffle his hair. "My hero."

"We're here if you need us," I promise her.

She rolls her eyes but I swear there's a bit of a smile in there. "All I need is to stare at the backs of my eyelids for about twelve hours. Neither of you can help me with that. So go home. Smoke a blunt. Go slap your dicks together, or whatever it is you do."

Before she opens the door, Robert hugs her. It's one of those moments that words would ruin. So neither of them say anything at all. Mary flashes us a smile, a real one, and salutes us as she unlocks her front door. "Safe travels, sailor."

The door closes and we're left in the streetlights' glow on the sidewalk. Robert finally asks, "You wanna come over?"

It's late but I'm still wide awake. We walk inside of his house, I hang up my coat and go to the couch to peek at Betsy fast asleep and drooling on the armrest. Drool or no drool, she looks super cute. So I don't disturb her, and instead I follow Robert's trail to the kitchen. He greets me with glass of ice water.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine...?"

"Still tipsy?"

I chuckle weakly. "Nah. I sobered up pretty quickly after Mary caught us."

"Good."

I'm curious about why he bothered to ask, but I don't get the chance to question him. He takes the glass from me and sets it on the counter, puts his hand flat on my chest, and pushes me back a few steps until I'm backed up into the kitchen table. Robert leans me back, his palms spread against the flat surface. My arms slip over his shoulders. His kisses start slow and sweet. Robert dips down a little and grabs me under my thighs, lifting me just enough to sit me on the edge of the table. My legs spread to accomodate him stepping in. I pull him as close as possible through our clothes. My legs wrap around him to pull him flush against me. We kiss and he smiles, I lift my hips to grind against him and he sighs against my neck. Robert breaks away just enough to look me in the eyes.

"You haven't asked me to stop," he reminds me.

"I don't want to."

I'm done asking him to wait. Life is too short to spend it worrying, stalling, being afraid. I want to dive in and savor him like he savors the taste of my tongue and throat. Breaths grow shallow, my heart quickens. He yanks off my jacket and unzippers my fly. I push my weight onto my hands so he can pull my jeans and underwear down to my knees. If he cares about my bare ass on his kitchen table, he doesn't show any sign. And when he touches me for the first time, I moan into his mouth.

Jesus... It's been so long since I've been with anyone. I almost started to forget what it was like. His hands are rough on my skin, but he's gentle. He takes it slow, exploring my cock as it perks up. His palm slides up the underside and his thumb presses just below the head of it. I bury my head against his shoulder.

He lifts my chin with his free hand, a devilish expression on his dimly lit face that sets my blood on fire. Robert nips at my collarbone, a nipple through my thin shirt, the belly button ring, and -- he pauses. I feel his breath on my skin and I shiver with excitement. When he grins up at me, I know he stopped on purpose -- just to see me squirm. And when he takes me in his mouth, I nearly cry. He slurps my cock eagerly, pushes it flat against my stomach so he can lick a trail starting from my balls all the way up to the tip. I rake a hand through his hair, murmuring his name, giving in to the pleasure.

He slips his hands under my thighs and lifts me, pushes me until I have no choice but to lie back on the table, and he sucks the tip _hard_. I shudder and cry out, overwhelmed, and he dives in over and over -- further with each bob of his head, leaving nothing unexplored. Gripping me at the base, Robert flicks his tongue against the tender spot his thumb teased earlier. I twitch and moan, losing my composure -- seeing stars. "Robert," I beg. My mouth waters. "Please -- _please_." Holy fuck. His smirk. Licking his lips. I'm dying. I'm going to bust just from fucking _looking_ at him. I need him, and he doesn't leave me wanting for long. My cock hits the back of his throat, all of it just disappears in his mouth and he exhales through his nose against my stomach.

My vision goes fuzzy and my hearing dulls and my legs are shaking so badly they've gone numb. " _Robert_ , I'm gonna... fucking -- _mmmh_!" I try to warn him but it's too late, it's too late and he doesn't pull away. He holds me tight and swallows every spurt.

He straightens up with a groan thanks to his cramping legs. But when he looks me in the eyes and wipes his mouth clean, he's all dark desire with a wolfish charm that I am grossly, unabashedly head over heels for.

I'm ready to fuck right on his kitchen table. I'm willing to let both of my knees go to shit so I can get on them for Robert. He grabs my wrists and kisses me hard. "Let's go upstairs," he says. I slide off the table and try to fix my pants just enough so that I can walk, but Robert doesn't let me take a single step. He scoops me up and holds me like I'm no more than a child while he carries me through the house.

Okay. It's official. Robert goddamn Small has more sex appeal than any other man I've ever known.

How he finds the right room and makes it up the stairs while making out with me is an absolute mystery that I'll probably ask him about when I'm not begging him to rail me. He shoves me back against the door to -- I presume -- his bedroom briefly. I push his jacket off of him, and it falls on the floor, forgotten. He pulls up my shirt until I get the hint to pull it off. And once I drop it, he opens the door. I fall back against his bed with him on top of me, prowling over me and for a moment, we drink in the sight of one another. I am actually salivating for this man. I swallow hard and pull his top off, exploring everything -- which parts of his skin are rough or smooth, the gnarled scar ripped across his chest, his hard-muscled arms... Tugging on his lips with my teeth, I'm getting a little hard again. He notices. He lifts an eyebrow at me, teasing me with just a grin.

"Shut up," I mutter.

"I didn't say a damn thing."

"You were about to."

He laughs against my chin. My heart flutters. I reach for his pants but Robert is a step ahead of me, already working them off. I feel his cock brush against my leg.

I want to be smooth. Sexy. To rile him up as payback for how badly he's ruining me. But I'm so desperate to taste him that I don't even remember how to be seductive. I hook my knee around his waist and use the leverage to flip him. My nails scrape down his chest. He watches me, almost dazed, and I take him in my mouth without forethought. I don't build him up. I don't tease. I suck his cock like it's candy. My licks are sloppy, I swallow too loudly, but I just want him so badly that I don't care.

"Mmm... that's good," Robert assures me.

I doubt it. But he sure sounds convincing. My tongue swirls over the tip of his cock and Robert sits halfway up, jerking up my chin to kiss me. I wanted to let him finish in my mouth, or on my face, or literally wherever he wanted, but Robert has other plans. Plans that seem to fall more in line with my burning need for him to wreck me.

I don't ask him why he has so much lube in his nightstand, or who else he brought to his bedroom. The questions fizzle out within seconds of them coming to mind because they don't matter. Honestly, very few things matter when Robert presses a finger into me. The lube is warmer on his hand, and he pets my hair, his kisses slow and deep. I try to calm down for him, but he just makes me so excited. His middle finger pushes in, circling and exploring while I whimper into his shoulder. I spread my legs for him, letting him see just how much I want him. How hard I am, how my cock twitches with every touch, how my body opens up for him. He pumps his hand harder, a little rougher, and my eyes pop open wide and I cry out for him. "Hurry," I beg him breathlessly.

How much longer does he think I can take this? Robert rips apart a condom wrapper with his teeth and rolls it down his length before slathering the lube over it. I yank him back down and press my forehead against his shoulder. One hand cradles my head; his other guides his cock to my entrance... and slowly, he splits me open. My nails dig in at the nape of his neck. I'm shaking. Aching with sweet desire. All thought slips from me like morning mist. Robert holds my face, just gazing at me, _wanting_ me, and I'm home.

It's slow, like testing your toes in a river. It's torture. And it's so, so fucking good.

I nuzzle against his neck, starting with something like a kiss that ends up with my teeth sinking into his throat. He growls, the sound vibrating against my lips. Rattling my brain. He thrusts up -- hard. Gasping at the sensation, I want to beg for more but I forget how to say the words. Instead, I bite him again. This time he calls out my name, and he pounds into me so hard I lose my breath. Seeming to realize I've given him permission to let loose, Robert fucks me harder, the hand cradling my head pulls at my hair, and I moan into his kiss.

Lost. I'm lost in the sound of him panting in my ear. In the strain at the end of his breaths that sounds like heaven. He pumps my cock in time with his hips and I lose every last strand of self restraint. " _Yes_ ," I beg him, over and over. I cry his name out like a prayer. The dam breaks and my whole body quakes around him, warmth washing over me as I let go all over my stomach and Robert's hand.

"Fuck," he grunts. He spreads me as far as I can go, he bottoms out and tears spring to my eyes. It's so good. It's so fucking food. Does he know? Can he feel it? He can -- he must. He strains to ram into me and his pleased groans slip out. Robert pants against my throat, his elbows give out, and he lays on top of me so I can feel his heart beating against my own chest.

My arms are limp but I hug him tightly anyway. He lifts himself off of me and leans off to the side, the two of us covered in sweat and struggling to catch our breath. I smile with him, and I know in that moment that all we've worked for has been worth it.

Clean up is minimal; exhaustion creeps up on us quickly, and it's nearly dawn when we settle under the covers. Robert wraps an arm around my chest, securing me. Grounding me. I watch the sky change colors through the half-open curtains until peaceful sleep beckons me to close my eyes.

-

My legs are unsteady but fuctional. I towel off after nice hot shower and change into clothes Robert offered to lend me. They still smell like him, and I can't help the giddiness bubbling in my chest. Robert is still in the process of waking up. He's in just a pair of boxers in the kitchen making coffee. I'm glad for the caffeine but I'm starving. And I would honestly love to cook breakfast for the two of us.

I open the fridge to poke around for ingredients but it's barren. There's some condiments, butter, a half gallon of milk -- but no actual food. I'm well aware that Robert's eating habits are terrible but his sheepish explanation that "I dunno. Sometimes I just forget to eat" is horrifying.

"We're going grocery shopping," I tell him. "Right now. You don't get any say in this."

"Right now?" he clarifies.

"Yes," I say firmly.

He's awake enough now to throw me a suggestive grin. "So I'm going just like this?"

My cheeks heat up. I forgot he's not wearing pants. "You have five minutes."

"Ten," he bargains.

I'm about to insist on five but he kisses me.

"Ten minutes," I say.

Damn, he's good.

He saunters off to shower and change while I sit down to make a quick shopping list. Before we go, he gives Betsy a few chin scritches and pours her kibble and fresh water. She's too distracted by her food to whine at us to take her along.

I'm so hungry that I can't wait to get back and cook. Instead we grab breakfast sandwiches on the way. It's a sleepy start to the morning and the supermarket is quiet. We stroll through the aisles to fill the cart. I make a mental note to check Robert's fridge and pantry more often. And, just as important, to start cooking for him more. I'm used to cooking for two anyway.

He puts one hand on my hip while he leans across me to reach for a particular fruit in the produce section. I flush a little, more so when he doesn't take his hand away. I steer the cart more slowly so we don't have to break contact. We compare a few brands, eat some free samples, find coupon items, and giggle over a couple of particularly phallic veggies. Once we pick up on everything on my list -- and then some -- we pay and load up the truck with our bags. We both climb into our seats and Robert puts the keys in the ignition, but he doesn't start the engine. He just sits there for a few seconds staring out the windshield. I put my hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

He nods. He rests one hand on the steering wheel and rubs his thumb over the grips. When he finally makes eye contact with me, time slows down. "This is... nice."

I blink. "Are you talking about last night?"

"No," he says. "I mean, last night was great. But... _this_ ," he says, gesturing. "Little things. Waking up together. Driving. Shopping on a Sunday morning. It's..." He trails off, and I wait patiently until he can pick back up again. "If I ever had moments like this in the past, I never appreciated them. With you, it's different."

Hearing it in his own words warms my heart. I give his arm a squeeze and he brushes his lips over mine. "And here's to many more little things."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I've never written a sex scene in first person before.


	4. Drunk on the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience guys! One more chapter to go after this and we'll be done!

Someday, Robert and I are going to travel the world in search of cryptids and ghosts. For now, we'll settle for the ones in our backyard.

I spent a few days researching some urban legends and reading more conspiracy theories than I think any one person should have ever had to sift through. But it was worthwhile. I made a list of all the notable ghosts and creatures rumored to haunt the tri state area and began to plan out our trips. Our first is just a little one, barely a day trip. But it'll get us out of the house and sleepy Maple Bay, so I'm looking forward to it. Besides, what's not to like about a little autumn monster hunt?

Okay, so I guess the local sea serpent isn't really the most exciting to start with. As Robert is quick to remind me, there haven't actually been recorded sightings in like, over a hundred years. One message board had someone claiming to have proof of the serpent and it just ended up being a picture of a (weirdly impressive) shit in their toilet. And that's pretty much the best credible witness we've got to go on.

We load up the truck for our day trip and stop off for coffee before hitting the road. It's brisk and the leaves are turning, but it's cloudless and sunny.

Even after renting a skiff to take out on the harbor, Robert and I don't see anything remotely mythical. The bay is calm and breezy though and we find tons of local marine life: schools of fish, sea birds, and what I'm pretty sure was a pair of seals. When the wind gets to be too much, we head back to shore and find a spot up on the hill to have our picnic lunch. We spread out a blanket and unpack our food and water so we can relax for a bit. I take a bite of my sandwich and sigh over our lackluster excursion. Robert nudges me gently. "It's not like you to mope."

I try to shrug it off. "I just... thought it would be different. You know? We ran into something exciting when we weren't even looking for it before, but now that we're prepared -- zilch." I comb back my windblown hair with my fingers and stare out at the boring sea. "I'm sorry. I should have made better plans."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Robert asks. "You think paranormal shit's gonna happen just because you go looking for it? No way. You did plan out a cute date, though. Feels like some Sound of Music shit up here."

I nearly choke on my sandwich from laughing. "Damn, did I miss the cue to start the singalong?"

"Listen, you're not bad at karaoke, but you're not Julie Andrews. And if you start singing friggen showtunes to me I'll leave you here."

We make it down from the hilltop without any musical numbers and find our way back to Robert's parked truck. I fiddle around with the map to try to find the quickest route, but it's so faded that I can barely read any of the markings. "It's fine," Robert says. "I remember the way back."

I've heard that a few times before. But I'm in no hurry to get back home so I don't mind if we make a few navigational errors. I tuck the map away in the glove box and relax while Robert takes the wheel. A gentle rain patters across the pavement and windshield. The sky darkens overhead; I zip my jacket a little higher, the heater purrs to life, and Robert slips his hand over my thigh. No matter how familiar I am with his touch, my heart speeds up when he shows a little tenderness.

Rain gives way to fog; there are few cars around us, and Robert peers out at a weathered sign. "Do you see an exit number?"

"Nope. Just rust," I tell him.

Robert hesitates for half of a second before he gives a noncommital shrug. We take the exit and follow it down to a narrow stretch of road. Trees loom tall on either side of us and the markings on the tarmac have faded to bits of paint. There are no signs anymore to show us the way. No guard rails or neighboring cars. Just the straight, narrow road too obscured in the light fog for us to see the end.

"Um... Robert?"

"Don't say it."

Yup. So he realizes we went the wrong way, too.

"Do you want me to try to figure out where we are on the map?"

He shakes his head and looks behind us before he making a U turn. "We'll just go back the way we came."

How are we going to get back on the highway? I kind of don't want to know the answer. But I'm cool with any path that's going to take us away from Silent Hill. And then, as we make the quiet backtrack, Robert slows to a stop. He sees what I see.

"Do you... remember there being a fork in the road?" I ask him quietly.

"Didn't see one earlier."

There's a sharp split ahead of us and I have no idea how we missed it. And more importantly I don't think either of us know which path leads to the exit we came from.

He stares hard at the split. "So. Right or left?"

I pause. Both look exactly the same. Can't see down either one. All the tall trees and faded stripes look the same. "Right," I decide. So Robert turns right.

I know in my gut that I chose wrong. The moment we slip past the left fork, I feel sick to my stomach.

Maybe I'm just psyching myself out. I'm being stupid. There's absolutely nothing to panic about. If we're going the wrong way, we can just turn back and everything will be totally fine.

"Look over there."

I follow Robert's nod and swivel my gaze towards a break in the foliage. Sitting about thirty feet back from the road is a house. Or what's left of one. It looks like it lived through an earthquake, nuclear fallout, and at _least_ two tornadoes -- simultaneously. All the wood paneling is blackened, the roof has rotted out and it's stained with splotches of lichen and moss. I definitely did not see that eyesore the first time around.

"We should have gone left," I tell him. But he's not freaking out or frustrated. He's wearing a Cheshire cat grin. "... Why do I feel like I'm not gonna like what you're about to say?"

Robert pulls over to the side of the road and cuts the engine. "You said you wanted to find something exciting."

"Robert, you're the movie buff. You know this scene. People who get lost in the woods and walk into creepy cabins end up chopped into a hundred pieces."

Betsy pops her head out from under my seat, a goofy smile on her face. She barks happily. God, I love her to bits but she is not a smart puppy.

"You're outvoted," Robert says. "And we're not going in unprepared." He flashes a big hunting knife hidden under his jacket.

"Uh. Why do you have that."

"Just in case."

... Fair enough. Hopefully whatever otherworldly shit creeps in that house is tangible, because I don't think Robert's knife will do much against ghosts. Not that he wouldn't _try_.

We get out of the truck and for once I'm a little reassured by the blade Robert gave me months ago. I don't know how to do much with it other than whittle but it's better than nothing to defend myself. Betsy takes off into damp bushes taller than she is, and when she bounces through it all I can see are the tips of her ears sailing through the underbrush. Robert and I crunch our way towards the house. The footing is uneven as it is; wet leaves and moss don't help matters. I slip over a muddy patch and Robert catches my arm to steady me.

The house sloppily boarded up. Rusty nails hang out of the planks and the roof has almost completely collapsed. What's left of the shingles flop into the gaping maw, a black hole sucking the air from our lungs.

Well. I can't blame anyone but myself. I went out today looking for an adventure. Looking to scare myself. And now I've gone and done it.

Robert is brimming with newfound energy. He hops up onto the porch and tugs on the door knob; it groans, but stays shut. I spot a board nailed across part of the door and the wall beside it. "Oh well," I say. "Guess we can't get in."

Robert contemplates the board. He wedges his fingers underneath it and gives it a firm tug -- effectively yanking the wood clean off. I clamp my mouth shut and Robert tosses it aside.

"You think that was supposed to keep us out, or something else _in_?" he asks.

I kind of don't want to know the answer. I give him a weak chuckle, the best I can manage, but Robert isn't fooled. He stops, his excitement simmering down, and he bridges the gap between us to rub my shoulder. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. You're freaked out."

Okay maybe a little. A lot. Totally and completely. Crap. But I want the excitement, and the memories with him, and I want to live as fearlessly as he does.

Robert says, "We can go back if you want."

I shake my head no. "Let's look around a little first."

"Are you sure?"

You can't find adventure if you spend your whole life avoiding it. I try not to think about finding a grizzly axe murderer inside and I give Robert my final confirmation.

Okay. I can do this.

He opens the creaky door, and a hinge busts at the bottom. Betsy scampers inside and Robert follows, clicking his flashlight on so we can see the inside.

I swallow hard past the fear strangling me and take a shaky step over the threshold. In the beam of light, I can make out bits of old furniture, bugs, and broken glass. A centipede the length of my foot crawls over my shoe and disappears into the dark. Ugh. Gross. I clutch Robert's sleeve as we step inside, each footfall sounding like it's going to break through the floor. Everything I can see is wet, windblown, rotten. Shattered picture frames lay around what I assume was a living room but they're too distorted to make out anything more than blobs. A door to an adjacent room hangs open, whining as it sways in the breeze. The noise sends a chill down my spine and I hold Robert tighter. He stops. So do I. He raises a hand to his ear. I stop breathing to listen.

Scrabbling comes from the next room. Like fingers scraping desperately against a wall.

"Who's there?" Robert calls.

No answer. The scrabbling stops. Everything stops. The creaking door and the wind and all the sounds of the forest.

And then -- banging. Ramming. Furious battering against wood.

"Robert," I mouth. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. I grab his arm and pull him back, and I'm terrified that he'll want to keep looking for whatever is haunting this place, but to my relief -- and terror -- he actually does step back with me. Robert fucking Small is unnerved enough by the unknown to retreat. And that scares the absolute shit out of me.

But we don't make it more than a few paces. Something darts between our legs, a familiar black and white blur, and Betsy runs right past us into the next room.

"Betsy, no -- come! C'mere, girl!" He whistles for her, but she just keeps snuffling around out of sight. The banging sound picks up again, along with the scraping -- and then, something _bursts_. A sharp yowl echoes from the darkness and Robert, in the most pained and heartbreaking voice I have ever heard, calls out, " _Betsy!_ "

He runs into the room after her, and I'm right on his heels fumbling for the knife in my back pocket. The shaking beam of light whips all over the room as Robert tries to find his poor dog. We should never have come here, it's all my fault, I should have said _left_ \-- said _no_ \-- and now because of me, Betsy is --

A cabinet with a shattered door comes to light, and sitting right in front of it is Betsy. She looks up at us, her big eyes so sad that I could cry, and she sits perfectly except for the one front paw she holds up in the air. Robert tucks the flashlight under his arm and drops to her side to inspect her. I come closer, and I see what he sees. A small splinter pokes out of the pad of one of her toes.

"Jesus. Don't scare me like that," Robert sighs. He carefully plucks out the splinter and picks Betsy up, cradling her like a baby.

"Robert." I'm glad Betsy's okay, but... "There's something else in here."

He notices it, too. Breathing, and not ours. Quick breaths. Small shuffling feet. The flashlight flickers and when Robert turns, something hops behind the freshly broken cabinet.

It's an animal, I'm sure of that. But it was too quick for me to see what it really was. Was it a dog that some asshole teenagers locked up in here as a prank? Or a raccoon that went looking for food, fell in the broken top and couldn't get back out? It definitely wasn't something undead looking to eat our brains. Maybe it's hurt. I want to help it.

I take the flashlight from Robert and let him stay where he is to tend to Betsy. I tiptoe over, shining the flashlight in the corner. I see it. And it sees me. It's frozen, probably terrified.

"What is it?" Robert asks.

I cannot believe the words coming out of my own mouth.

"A bunny."

" _What?_ A fucking _rabbit_ made all that racket?"

"A bunny with... um... horns."

Robert falls silent. "Are you fucking with me?"

I look him dead in the eyes. He hurries over and looks down in the corner. He sees what I see. Betsy cranes out of his arms, sniffing curiously in the direction of the mismatched creature on the floor.

Its brown coat is damp and its pupils are dilated, ears folded back and a pair of tiny antlers sprouting from between them. It's much bigger than a pet store bunny. Almost bigger than Betsy. I crouch down slowly and reach into my pocket for one of Betsy's treats.

"Are jackalopes cool with dog food?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"I dunno, I thought you were the cryptid expert." I hold out the treat for the horned rabbit and wait quietly.

"They're supposed to be dangerous. If it charges at you, it could fuck you up with those horns," Robert whispers.

"It doesn't look dangerous. It's pretty cute."

My patience pays off. It takes a hesitant hop forward, its ears perking up a little, and it leans forward very slowly to nibble to dog treat from my hand. I smile. It's actually adorable. And it hits me as I watch this strange little creature that I'm actually seeing something straight out of American folklore. I feel a little braver even if it's just from knowing that there are no murderghosts here. So I reach forward and scritch the jackalope's head. Its fur is coarse and wet and it smells like a barn. But it's real.

I grin up at Robert, deliriously excited, and he's just dumbstruck.

"Hey, you have your phone, right?" I ask him.

"Yeah."

"You should take a picture!"

He shifts Betsy so he can pull out his phone but even as he turns it on, he can't seem to come to grips with what's in front of us. Not that I can blame him. Robert's movement seems to frighten the jackalope, and it skitters around between my legs.

"Hold still, dammit," Robert mumbles.

"I got it," I say. I pick it up under the arms and hold it up, careful to keep its horns well away from my face.

"Ready?" Robert says. The phone's camera shutter goes off, the bright light flashes --

And the jackalope jerks out of my grip, its hind legs kick back and whack me square in the jaw. It hits the ground and I fall back. Dazed. Holy shit. Ow. _Ow_. Do I still have all my teeth? The flashlight rolls away. Robert comes to help me. He's swearing up a storm and I wipe a tear from my eye.

"Babe, are you okay?" he asks, holding my face.

"Yeah, I... I think so. Just... a little concussed."

We find the flashlight and Robert helps me to my feet. The jackalope is long gone. I'm a little heartbroken. "Did you get the picture?" I ask.

Robert looks at his phone. He's quiet for a moment. And then, he bursts out laughing. Like, _wheezing_ laughing. I take his phone and I understand why.

He got about half of the jackalope in the shot. Specifically its bottom half. More specifically, its feet kicking me in the face. I do not look graceful. And it's so bad that I have to laugh, too.

I guess it wouldn't be a real cryptid experience if we didn't have a blurry, incomplete picture of our fabled creature.

We've had more than enough excitement for one day, I think. Robert and I head back outside and by the time we get to the truck, the fog has almost completely cleared. There's a sign maybe a quarter of a mile ahead of us, and when we get close to it, we both see it clearly says _Maple Bay - 12 miles_.

How we got on the right track is a mystery. But we're heading home, and I think that's all I need to know.

-

I loved Halloween for most of my life -- as a kid, because I got free candy. As a teen and young adult, because I had an excuse to dress like a weirdo and party. As a father I loved taking Amanda out trick or treating and helping her with her costumes. But it's been years since she outgrew the parts of Halloween that I loved to experience with her. I think handing out candy would make me feel a little too nostalgic, so I'm glad when Robert suggests that we make one last camp for the season if the weather is fair enough. And just as the weatherman predicted, we've got clear skies and it's just brisk enough to need a light jacket. It's the perfect night for a stake out.

... Okay so it's not really a stake out. We're just camping and thinking wistfully about Bigfoot stumbling across us.

Robert gets the fire crackling while I spear a couple of marshmallows by the camp chairs. His favorite overlook is cozy tonight with a brilliant view of stars above and city lights below. Betsy curls up to sleep by the spare logs. Just behind us sits his pick up, prepped with a blanket and pillows for midnight stargazing later. We crack open a few drinks to toast to our lazy man's campsite.

I get the feeling that Robert likes setting his marshmallows on fire more than actually eating them.

Amanda is slowly getting me to be a little more tech savvy so I'm getting used to sending her picture messages. I send her one of Robert, Betsy, and the campfire. She replies with one of her and her roommate Aqua eating Taco Bell. These days she looks tired, but happy. And that makes me happy. Of course I still worry for her and more than once I've stayed up all night waiting on a text back... But she's got a good head on her shoulders. She can look after herself and she's fitting in just fine. I knew she would.

I show Robert the picture of the girls and he chuckles. "She's gonna be hitting the Freshman 15 before Thanksgiving if she doesn't lay off the fast food."

"I told her the same thing. She said she already threw in the towel and she's just gonna wear sweatpants for the rest of the year."

That's my girl.

Robert cracks another smile. "For her first year in college, Val didn't ask for much. I checked in once to see if she needed anything and she just said 'Hot Pockets.' So I ordered them to get delivered to her dorm from a supermarket. Except I didn't realize I ordered twelve-packs so she ended up getting, like, three hundred fucking Hot Pockets. Might have been the happiest I ever made her."

"A freshman's dream come true."

One of my favorite things about Robert is how he talks about Val. Sure, at first he's that grizzled, detached parent that he pretends to be. But the way he looks when he shares a fond memory, it takes ten years off of him. It's beautiful. And I can't help but fall for him a little harder.

He smooshes his marshmallow against mine, making a gooey mess. "Rude," I huff, pulling my stick away... only for my marshmallow to completely detach from it, fused to Robert's. He flashes me a smug grin.

"I swear to god, if you burn it, I will never buy you anything but light beer again."

"Is that a threat?" he teases.

"Yes. Don't come between my and my sweets."

"Then how about I come between your legs instead?"

A retort falls back down my throat and I'm glad it's too dark for him to really see me blush. He plucks the fused marshmallow off the the end of his stick and holds it out in front of my face expectantly. I roll my eyes and take a sloppy bite. But it's still warm and goopy, and it's making a bit of a mess on him. Smiling coyly, I take him by the wrist and lick his fingers clean. One by one, I suck them into my mouth and slurp off the sugar. My tongue runs over tough skin and I peer up to see him smirking in the firelight.

"I think I might have dropped some on my dick if you wanna, you know, clean that up too."

After abducting my dessert Robert hardly deserves it but it's late, we're alone, and I've kinda got a chub from all the seductive finger licking. I drop to my knees in front of his chair and unzip him, stretching aside the band of his underwear. Robert spreads a little further and ruffles my hair. "Shit, babe. I wasn't serious." But he brings my head a little closer anyway.

Goddamn, I love the taste of him; I'd let him finish in my mouth all day long. I'm not picky about where Robert puts his dick but I love the control I have over him when I blow him. Usually I'm on my knees or backed up against a wall, and sometimes he pulls my hair, but in the end I'm in charge of his pleasure. I get to make him sit back and relax and just enjoy whatever I do to him... Or I get to drive him nuts.

His hand is sloppy in my hair, eyes closed and head tipped back to enjoy my cheeks pressed flush against his shaft. Bobbing up and down, I take him in a little more each time, letting his cock hit the back of my throat. I've worked to tone down my gag reflex; I press the head of his cock into the back of my throat, hold him there, and suck gently. " _Fuck,_ babe..." His growl is desperate, borderline animalistic. And it's such a turn on.

Robert nudges me; so it's my turn for a little relief now. I get to my feet slowly to dust off my dirty jeans. I'll be damned if I've ever seen anything as sexy as Robert sitting rock hard in front of a campfire. His eyes are glued to me -- my ass, probably -- as I make my way to my bag sitting on the bed of the pick up. I pull it close and rummage through it, but I don't make much headway. Footsteps crunch behind me and Robert puts his hands on my waist, his nose against my neck, and grinds against me.

"Hey," I murmur. "You're making it a little hard to concentrate."

"Good."

Robert shoves me forward, bending me over the back of the pick up. He widens the gap between my unsteady legs and reaches around to unzip my jeans. He yanks them halfway off and my underwear goes along with them. One hand braces against my back to keep me from getting up and Robert kisses down my spine. The mix of sweet and sexy has me reeling. It gets worse, too, when Robert doesn't stop. When he reaches the base of my spine, he cups my ass in both hands and spreads me. His tongue flicks out against my skin and my face sears. Hearing the squeal that comes out of me just fuels him, and he licks again. And again. I whine his name. Beg for him. The tip of his tongue presses against my ass, slips inside, and I would collapse right on the ground if not for the truck I'm bent over. I've never felt more open and vulnerable, never in my life, and my heart pumps so hard I think I might go into cardiac arrest. The tender laps and kisses blend so perfectly with his fingers digging into my ass cheeks. I want more of him, more of this primal Robert who's beyond shame. I grab my dick and jack myself off while he shoves his tongue in my ass. Open mouthed moans fall out against the crook of my arm. God he's so fucking good to me.

I've still got one hand clutching the strap of my bag when Robert leans over me to dig around inside of it for my lube. He's quick to work me over with his fingers because he knows I need more. And he doesn't keep me waiting for long. He fills me up, pushes me down, fucks me hard -- holy shit, I need this. I need his weight on me and his hand on the back of my neck and his marking, claiming. Making me _his_. His nails carve stinging trails down my back and hips; he sinks his teeth into my shoulder and neck. _Fuck._ It hurts, but just as it gets unbearable, I whimper -- he lets up with soft kisses, rubs my back. And when I need him to push me, I pop my hips up higher and peek at him over my shoulder with a silent plea. "More?" he asks. _Please. More_. I nod. Then his hands snatch up my hair and he lets loose all over again.

My climax hits me like a freight train and I'm barely lucid when I finish for Robert. I'm delirious with all the sensations, the aches, and pleasure, submission -- it's heaven. He busts inside of me with a grunt against the nape of my neck. My knees actually buckle, and he sweeps both arms around my waist just in time to keep me upright. Well... mostly.

We stay like that just a little longer -- my back to his chest, his cock in me, Robert hugging me tightly. If I could make the moment last, I would. But the campfire can only warm us so much when we're sweaty and half naked. Robert and I clean up and redress as much as we can be bothered to and settle into our nest of blankets in the back of the pick up. It's cozy with both of us combining our body heat, and we can see plenty of stars now that we're away from light pollution.

It's peaceful here. Like neither of us have any barriers between us. I nestle into the crook of his arm and not for the first time I think about how lucky I am to have moved to Maple Bay, met Robert, and fallen for him. Loving him fulfills me in a way I didn't know I was missing. A piece of me that had been empty for so long that I forgot what it felt like to be whole.

I could say something cheesy like that to him, but I think it would just make things awkward. After Alex passed, I told myself I would never miss the opportunity to tell the people I care about how much they mean to me. But I chicken out. He feels me shift, knows I have something to say, but when I have the chance I look away. I should say _something_ , right?

"Do you think Bigfoot is real?"

Robert wonders, "Why do you ask?"

"What if he's real and he's in the woods out here? What if he's watching us right now?"

"Are you thinking about Bigfoot rubbing one out while we were having sex?"

" _Now_ I am. Jesus Christ, Robert."

He laughs. I love his laugh. It warms me up, and I pull the blankets tighter around us. I don't have enough brain bleach to get rid of that weird mental image, but it'll pass. And my opportunity passed, too. I had a perfectly good chance to have a nice moment with him and I gave it up to talk about a freaking cryptid.

I can feel Robert's eyes on me so I look up. His thumb brushes across my cheek, he glances down at my lips. I want to kiss him. I lay my hand across his cheek and press my lips to his. I whisper the words back to him and he holds my wrist. I kiss his forehead and draw him close. My eyes shut and I breathe in the smell of him, of our campfire and the night and sex.

And even as I start to fall asleep, I smile. Words are cheap. I don't need to say anything, and neither does he.

 

 


	5. To Begin Again, With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever start a project and then get ~~horribly depressed~~ sidetracked :)))
> 
> Thanks everyone for your support, kind words, etc! It's very late (and I think this fandom is dead lol) BUT I'd hate to leave this unfinished, so here it goes!

Amanda walks inside the house with her luggage scraping over the carpet. She pauses outside of her bedroom door, pushes on it gently, and flicks on the lights. I watch her make a full stop in the middle of the room as she looks around. A thin layer of dust sits on her computer screen and the tops of her shelves and bureau. She spins in place, still gazing at it like she's taking it all in for the first time. And she smiles at me with a little twinge of sadness.

"It's weird. Like, we haven't even lived here for a long time. But coming home feels really nostalgic."

"Yeah." I lean up against her doorframe and she flops down on her bed. "You need anything? Some water, snacks...?"

"A nap," she says, stretching out like a cat. "That trip wore me out."

She buries her face into her pillow but lifts her head up right away. Confused, she plucks a tuft of black fluff from her pillowcase.

"Must be from Betsy," I tell her. "She likes your bed."

"Aw crap. You did find a replacement daughter."

"No girl or dog could replace you, Panda." I pull off her worn out shoes for her and kiss her forehead. She lets out an exasperated groan, but her giggling gives her away. "Rest up," I say just before I turn out her light.

I have a ton of food cooking, so I'm not really in a position to leave the house. Still, I peep out through the living room window to see Robert's truck in the driveway and his lights on. He must have just gotten back from the airport.

Val agreed to come down for the holidays. She admitted that seeing her father again had gone better than expected, and she wanted to introduce him to her girlfriend. So, Val and Lisa are staying with Robert for the long weekend.

I know it'll be good for him. But I also know he's freaking out. And I wish I could help him, but I've got to cook Thanksgiving dinner for five.

He can do it. He'll be all right.

Right?

I shoot him a quick text while I poke through some tofu recipes for Val's girlfriend.

_How's everything going?_

I go back to my prep work and get a few more things chopped and packed up for tomorrow when I notice I've gotten a response from Robert.

_help_

Oh boy.

I've got a pie in the over and potatoes boiling -- I can't exactly dip out. So I call him instead, and when Robert answers, he sounds like he's whispering and possibly hiding in a closet.

"Come over," he murmurs.

"What? Robert, I'm in the middle of -- what's that sound in the background?"

It sounds like a chorus of shrill coos and laughter.

"Betsy's distracting them. Come over, quick."

"Do you want to eat burnt pie? Because that's what's gonna happen if I leave right now. Burnt. Pie."

"I'll buy you a pie -- shit, I'll pay _Mat_ to bake you a damn pie. Just -- please, come over, I can't make small talk, I --"

"Robert Small, there is a beautiful joke in there, and I am doing everything in my power not to reach for it."

He falls silent. And then, "That's it. I'm withholding sex. For a week."

"Worth it," I say, smirking as I stir the sauce pot.

Before Robert can fire out another comeback, there's a creaking sound -- like a door opening. And a muffled, "Dad? Um... why are you in the pantry?"

"Looking for... uh. Tin foil."

"In the dark?"

"I have good eyesight."

"Are you drinking?"

" _No_ , Val," he sighs.

I pipe up, "Should I let you go, hun?"

Robert says loudly into the receiver, "Yeah, babe, don't worry. I got the foil. I'll be right over."

The line cuts out and it seems like the same second I put down my phone, my doorbell rings. It can't possibly be Robert, but there he is. Holding up a roll of tin foil. And, for the first time in forever, smoking. I frown at him, and he knows well enough why. "I need it," he says.

"You know damn well you don't need it anymore than I need your tin foil," I say, swiping the box from him anyway. "What you need is to spend time with your family."

I've seen Robert stare down scarier stuff than my nightmares. But nothing puts fear in him like the idea of having to go back home to Val. When she came to visit over the summer, she stayed at a local hotel on the assumption that things might not go smoothly with her dad. After testing the waters, she and her girlfriend decided to stay at Robert's this time. It was a reasonable thing to do. And Robert had agreed to it -- even seemed excited for it, at the time. But now that the moment is here, he's getting cold feet. And not because he's standing barefoot on my doorstep.

"Robert," I tell him gently, "it's gonna be fine."

He takes another drag on his cigarette.

"Really. I have to go or the whole house is probably going to burn down."

Reluctant as he is, Robert nods. He puts out his cigarette and goes back home. I've got my fingers crossed for him. He can do this, I know it.

-

We get a nice, late start to the day. It feels more like home than ever with Amanda gurgling as she wakes up at the crack of noon. I make a quick breakfast for us since we'll be eating until we hate ourselves in just a couple of hours. We've got a bird roasted, potatoes cheesified, biscuits buttered, and tofu... doing whatever it is exactly that tofu does.

I haven't cooked for such a big group in a long time. It pushed me to the limit but it feels kind of amazing to cook for a big family. For way too long, it's just been me and Manda. And as close as we are, sometimes it's a little lonely.

So I smile through the whole day. We've got The Game on and finger food ready to get munched. I let Robert know he and the girls are set to come over whenever they want. Within the hour, the doorbell rings. Amanda springs to her feet and rushes for the door, stars in her eyes when she sees Val. We all exchange some greetings as I formally meet Val's girlfriend Lisa, and hearing Robert introduce me as his boyfriend still makes my stomach flip.

I made too much food, but I doubt the leftovers will go to waste. I get tons of compliments on the cooking. (Robert murmurs, "Turkey's kinda dry, though." And then he smirks.) And it seems like I even made the tofu edible. Betsy gets all kinds of table scraps and she's the first to pass out in a food coma. Robert, Lisa, and I catch the end of The Game while Val asks to see Amanda's portfolio. My preferred team didn't make it to the Final Game, but Robert's did, and I'm glad to see him so happy when they narrowly win in overtime.

There's only so much he can do to stay awake, though, and his excitement drains him. As everything wraps up, Robert squeezes his arm tighter around my shoulders. "Mind if I go crash in your bed? I'm wiped."

"Go ahead. Save some room for me."

We share a kiss and Robert heads off to my room. Lisa helps me clean the dishes and pack up what's left of the leftovers. I smile to myself, glad that Val found such a nice partner. I wonder if Amanda's going to fall in love someday.

There are only a few things left to dry when Val pokes her head in the kitchen. "Hey. Do you wanna come out for a smoke?"

"Oh, um. I don't..." There's something purposeful in her hard stare. "Yeah," I say uneasily. "Let's go."

We step out onto my back porch. Daylight has passed, casting Maple Bay in quiet darkness. Streetlights brighten the sidewalks and a few beams trickle into the yard. A flash of flame illuminates Val's face and she draws a cigarette to her lips. She offers the pack to me, but I decline. She settles down in the adirondack chair that is coincidentally Robert's favorite. Her ashes disappear over the railing and I tuck my hands into my pockets, waiting.

"Kid's talented," she says. "She's got a good eye for it. Most people her age are just in it for a degree. She's passionate."

"She really is. And I'm sure she's glad that you're so supportive."

Val's dark eyes flick to me, stoic as she exhales more smoke. "Me?"

"Yeah. I'm just the fusty old dad, she expects me to support her and tell her she's great. You're kind of the cool big sister she's never had. Getting praise from you is like getting puppies for Christmas."

She doesn't quite smile but a little grunt of a laugh escapes her. Val stares off over the railing again. "Growing up, I always wanted a brother. But if it's Amanda, a little sister won't be so bad."

Alex and I were beyond happy to have just Amanda. We talked about having more kids and Amanda loved the idea of being a big sister. We kept waiting for a better financial situation, or for Amanda to move on to a new milestone -- for the "right" moment. The possibility of having another kid died with Alex. And I always kind of felt guilty about it. In a way, this family merge with Robert feels like a second chance.

It's late and it's cold. Val lights up another cigarette and she's not getting up anytime soon. I shift uncomfortably, more awkward than I've ever felt on my own porch. Technically I could just go inside. But I feel like I'm not allowed to leave yet.

"You didn't bring me out here to talk about Amanda," I say.

Val glances towards the back door to make sure we're alone. She doesn't confirm it, and she doesn't need to. Her ankles uncross and the tips of her high heels clatter against the porch.

"Did he ever tell you why we stopped talking?"

I shrug. "He gave me the short version. He said your mother was the only common ground you had left, and when she passed..."

Val breathes out a puff of smoke. "Yeah. Something like that."

But she just leaves it at that. It's hard for her, I think. It must be genetic. "He loves you. I hope you know that. Things must have been hard for you growing up. But I really hope you understand how much he's trying to change, Val. He's scared of losing you again."

"He's trying -- that's what I've heard since we moved to Maple Bay," she says. "Trying doesn't cut it. It's a bullshit word people use to make excuses when they can't put in real effort."

Robert hasn't had a drink in six days. I haven't seen him drink hard liquor in more than two months. There are times when he's reclusive still, when depression wraps him up and pulls him back to familiar misery. Now, though, he looks for help instead of pushing it away. He talks to me when he's stressed or hurt. He smiles -- and he means it. He takes care of himself, not to impress me or stick to a routine, but because he actually gives enough of a shit about himself to do it. It'll always be an uphill battle. A work in progress. But he's better than he was and he's getting better every day. Val stares down at a splotch of ash that fell on the tip of her shiny boot. "He's trying," she says, softer.

My dad instincts urge me to give her a big hug; if Amanda ever sounded like that, I'd be hugging the heck out of her. But I don't think Val and I are really close enough yet for that sort of thing. I think she'd punch me if I tried. Instead, I reach over and give her arm a reassuring sort of squeeze.

Forgiveness takes work. I think Val is trying, too.

Things are quiet. I'm getting numb. A headache sets in from the cigarette smoke. But we're not through. I know that for sure when she sighs and tips her head back over the rim of the chair, staring up at the black sky.

"I ran away from home. Dad drove eight hours to pick me up at the bus depot he tracked me to. He blew up at me on the way back, kept yelling _how could you do this to your mother?_ I told him the best thing he could do for her was kill himself." I look over at Val and she's half-hidden in a cloud of smoke. "I think he tried to. He went out and drank himself half to death. Called Mom in the middle of the night to come pick him up. She never made it."

Suddenly Robert makes sense.

I can imagine him sitting at the bar, Neil taking his keys and Robert calling his wife, almost too drunk to talk. And the time ticking. And ticking. The frantic calls, the stream of texts, fearing for the worst -- and having no idea how to handle it when the worst finally, finally happens.

I don't realize that I'm holding Val's hand until the edge of her acrylics squeeze against my fingers. It's brief. She pulls away because she's tough, she has to be. She's weary -- a tower still standing tall but weathered after a storm.

"It wasn't your fault," I tell her. "And it wasn't his, either."

She smiles, kind of. Val puts out her cigarette and flicks the butt away. "I know."

But that doesn't stop the guilt. I know well enough. Because at the end of it all, Marilyn is dead and they're still alive, always reliving those final hours.

I wish there was more I could do for them. But I can't take their pain away. All I _can_ do is stand by and listen and hope it's enough.

The back door squeals open and Amanda bounces out with apple cider in hand. "Whoa," she says. "Am I, like. Interrupting some heavy stuff?"

"Nah," Val says. "Your dad was just telling me how he's planning to propose."

I flush a little. Amanda gapes at me. "Say whaaat? You didn't even tell ME that!"

"We've only been dating for a couple of months. It's way too early to think about that."

Val says, "He's gonna take my dad on a monster hunt and pretend to fall. And when my dad tries to help him up, he's gonna slip on the ring."

Amanda snorts into her cider. "All right, now I know you're lying. Because that's way too smooth to be my dad's idea."

My girl's got a point. But that's not a half-bad idea. Thanks, Val. Gonna put that one on the list. Knowing my luck though I'll probably bust my ass for real and not be able to get up.

When we head back inside, Robert is still passed out in my bed. Lisa is tired so Val brings her back to Robert's to sleep. Amanda texts while she munches on leftover brownies, all snug in her pajamas. I pour myself a glass of water to take to bed and she looks up from her phone with a grin. "Hey Pops? I know Val was joking, but if you _are_ thinking about marrying him, you totally have my blessing."

I ruffle her hair. "Thanks, Panda."

-

Robert is awkward when he asks me to come with him. He's worried about cutting into my time with Amanda. Val suggests they all come along, make it a family trip. I'm not sure where we're off to or what to expect. I try to figure out what to wear, what to bring, but Robert tells me it's fine, you're fine, it won't be long.

We stop in at the Coffee Spoon. Robert orders an extra coffee. "That time again, huh?" Mat says and he makes up our drinks. For the extra one, nearly half of it is all cream with just a pinch of sugar. Mat jots an M on the side of the cup before giving us a smile and sending us off.

I didn't know what Robert had planned. But he parks at the cemetery and I understand. Lisa and Val steer Amanda towards some gnarly looking statues on old crypts, and Robert takes that as his cue to lead me away with both of his drinks in hand.

He knows the path to the plot. The headstone is dark, polished granite. It's surrounded by neat little bursts of flowers.

"Did you plant these?"

"Damien did," Robert says. He sets the full cup down on the base of the headstone and takes a seat on the grass across from it. "There are good people here. She always liked that."

I sit beside him. The grass is wilting, but the flowers Damien picked are still blooming in the cold. Steam rises from the spout of the cup and obscures the text on the stone.

"A lot of shit happened in this town," Robert says. "There were so many times when I wanted to leave it behind." Hesitant, halting, his cold hand cups mine. "I'm glad I stayed."

"Me too." I lace our fingers together and take a sip from my own coffee. It warms me up at the core and drives out the chill. It's been a long road for the both of us. But we're making the best of it, I think. And that's all you can really do.

"I don't come here as much as I should," Robert says. "But..." His chin dips and his eyes travel down to our clasped hands. "Now I feel like I can be the person she saw in me. And being here, I don't feel ashamed. So... thank you."

"For what?" I wonder.

"For today. For everything."

I take his arm. I never knew Marilyn but I think she'd be proud of him. Robert pulls me against his side, his lips fall to my temple, and he just holds me. His steady exhale ruffles my hair. It's cool and cloudless, and in the distance, Betsy barks. Val's voice is a low hum; whatever she says makes Amanda laugh. I breathe in. It smells of dead leaves and sweet coffee and Robert's leather jacket. I've found my own peace in unexpected places. Whatever tomorrow brings, wherever we go, I'll carry this peace in my heart.

We're going to be okay.


End file.
